Icarus Rising
by SusieSamurai
Summary: Before the Normandy, before Saren and Reapers and Spectres, there was simply Shepard and Moreau.


**Icarus Rising**

Disclaimer: I do not own Mass Effect, nor do I earn any form of financial gain from this work of fiction

* * *

 **Arcturus Station, 2171**

Arcturus Academy was as sterile and modern as one would expect a school on a state-of-the-art space-station to be. Walls were polished to a high-shine, the metal as reflective as any mirror while the floors a cloudy matte gray. A lingering scent of lemon-polish cleaner hung over everything, only marginally better than a hospital due to the lack of blood. And if a lack of blood only makes a facility 'marginally better' than a hospital, that's saying a lot for the non-existent welcoming homey feel of it.

Jeff hated it.

Slumped in one of the chairs outside the guidance counselors office the sixteen-year-old scowled mulishly at his feet. A battered black sneaker covered the left one while a stark white cast covered the right all the way up to his knee. A glare was also spared in the direction of the crutches he had thrown in a moment of frustration, leaning against the chair next to him. Although the term 'leaning' was loosely used. One was on the floor sticking halfway across the hall while the other was hanging precariously off the edge of the seat one jolt away from joining its friend on the floor.

Not that Jeff gave a fuck. Until he needed them to walk, of course. But that just brought him right back to why he was so pissed off to begin with.

According to the doctors, he was 'suicidal'. Something that made him want to laugh until they packed him right off to the loony-bin. If he was going to bite the big one you'd have thought he would have done it sooner. Not suffered through sixteen years of pain before deciding to use an off-hand comment about how he'd rather neck himself than listen to whatever pop-music-crap Hilary was playing for another minute as an impromptu suicide note. But whatever. Turns out having extremely strong opinions on musical genres was a sign of a fragile mental state.

Fragile mental state. Hah! The only thing fragile about him was his bones. Case in point the cast around his leg from the fractured tibia he had suffered after tripping while storming to his room in protest to Hilary's music. Couldn't even make a dramatic exit, how fucking sad was that?

Humanity had spread to all corners of the galaxy. Had space-flight and space-stations and people who could move things with their mind. Life was like one of the old sci-fi vids Jeff had such a soft spot for. And yet they still couldn't cure brittle-fucking-bone disease. Here he sat, a boy with literal glass bones, and their only solution was shoving steel-rods in his legs. All the technology in the galaxy and that was his option.

Okay, so maybe Jeff was mildly - _mildly_ \- depressed. But he wasn't fucking suicidal.

Couldn't enter flight school after graduation if he necked himself. And wouldn't that be a damned shame? Rob all of those pretentious assholes the pleasure of seeing him graduate top of the class with the best fucking scores in the history of space flight? He couldn't do that. It was simple really. Jeff couldn't die yet, he had too many people to prove wrong. Call him petty, but spite was a hell of a motivator.

Visions of said petty revenge were interrupted by the arrival of someone else.

An asian girl dropped down into the seat on the other side of his crutches, legs crossed and an irritated breath huffing from between her pretty pink lips. From the corner of his eye, he traced the exposed length of her thigh where her shorts rode up. Throat bobbing as he swallowed nervously, her hands twisting in her lap drew his attention. The skin over her knuckles was split and swollen on both hands, drying blood smeared over her otherwise delicate fingers. It was then he noticed that she was in the gray t-shirt and navy shorts that were the Arcturus gym uniform, thick black hair falling out of the ponytail it had been gathered into.

"You're staring."

Shit, had he been? He guessed he had. Weird that she had picked up on it though, as her eyes hadn't ceased their staring contest with the wall since she sat down. And if that was a thing that he knew, Jeff had definitely been staring. Damn.

"I've got excellent peripheral vision," she added while Jeff continued to sit there with a dumb look on his face, mouth slightly open. It was an admirable impression of a slack-jawed idiot.

"I - uh - sorry?" He eventually managed to spit out.

With a shrug she turned in her seat, finally giving him a decent look at her face. Slanted dark eyes dominated a face made up of soft curves, freckles trailing over the bridge of a snubbed nose while those pink lips curved with mirth at his obvious once over. Smooth Jeff, real smooth. Act like you've never seen a pretty girl before, that'll impress her.

"So," her eyes flicked over the crutches doing their best impression of a health-and-safety hazard on the floor and the plas-wrap covering him knee to toes, "what happened?"

Shrugging his shoulders Jeff answered with a flippant tilt to his head, "Oh, it was a shaving accident."

"...okay?"

Jeff was already regretting his go-to answer with the way she was eyeing him like he was possibly insane. It appeared that no one truly understood humor anymore. Or maybe he just wasn't funny? Nah, he was a riot it was everyone else who sucked.

As though to prove him correct the girl started giggling. Little snorting bursts of laughter that crinkled her eyes and turned her cheeks pink. Just when the laughter would peter off she would glance back over at him staring at her with a look of mildly concerned panic and start all over again. Perhaps she was insane? Jeff began wracking his brain for how the crazy/hot ratio worked from that classic vid-series he binged last time he was in hospital.

Finally reaching the point where he was wondering whether he should be offended or not the girl seemed to calm down. Wiping at her eyes with those busted up fingers and inadvertently smearing blood on her left cheek she fixed him with a smile that was positively beaming.

"I'm not crazy," she informed him, much like a crazy person would when trying to prove they were sane, "I have just had a very eventful day."

It was only ten-AM.

"That got to do with your hands?" Jeff asked figuring it was now or never and he honestly just wanted to keep pretending he was a normal boy talking with a pretty girl. It didn't happen very often that another student didn't already know who he was. Most interactions were either dripping with saccharine pity or snide looks and cruel comments. No surprises he didn't really have any friends. That didn't exactly help his case against not being suicidal either, irritatingly.

"These babies?" She held up said hands, wiggling the fingers towards him in a way that must've hurt but she barely flinched. "Well, if you wanna hear the whole sordid tale, who am I to say no?" With a dramatic flourish, she stretched her legs out in front of her, settling in for story-time, "So it was gym-class, first period, and there's a girl there who has epilepsy. Now the teacher had ducked out for a minute, rookie move but who am I to tell grown adults how to do their job? There's this kid in my class, Scotty Andrews, who is a Grade-A Fuckwit. Anyway, teachers gone, girl with epilepsy, you get the picture. Decides it'd be funny to make fun of this girl, try and induce a seizure so he can put it on the extranet or jerk off to it with his micro-dick, I don't know."

At this, she looks at him and the smile that splits her face couldn't be described as anything other than _violent_. And Jeff is enough of a man to admit that he's both scared and a little turned on.

"What I do know," she continued leaning forward conspiratorially, "Is that he made the most _satisfying_ sound when my fist dislocated his jaw."

"You -!" Jeff burst out incredulously before gaining control of his voice and continuing at a more acceptable pitch, "You _dislocated his jaw_?"

Jeff knew Scotty Andrews, Hell he'd been on the receiving end of that kids cruelty more than once. Which is how he knew that Scotty Andrews was six-foot-three and built like a brick shit-house. The idea that this tiny girl had dislocated his jaw was both terrifying and awesome and he kind of wanted to bake her a cake.

Laughter once again filled the hallway when he told her as much.

"I just don't like bullies," she explained with a nonchalant shrug once calming down, "Both my parents are military and I was raised to protect those who can't protect themselves."

Whatever Jeff was going to say in response was ruined when the door to the counsellors office opened and out stepped Ms. Olsen. The guidance counsellor was a young woman with blonde hair and a penchant for floral-print dresses. And while Jeff wanted nothing more than to hate her and her empty platitudes she was just so _earnest_ it made him feel guilty.

"Mr Moreau," she smiled brightly at him, heels click-clacking across the floor, "I'm sorry but we're going to need to reschedule our appointment. The headmaster has requested that I see Miss Shepard straight away."

"No worries Ms Olsen," Jeff waved her off with a smirk, reaching across to gather his crutches now that blessed freedom was within reach.

Following Ms. Olsen into her office with a roll of her eyes, Shepard spun around and shot him the most enthusiastic finger-guns he'd ever seen. Bright smile plastered across her face she said, "See you around, Moreau."

Lips curving into an answering smile Jeff raised two fingers to his temple and flicked them in a lazy salute, "Later Shepard."

When she returned from suspension two weeks later Jeff met her at the front gates with cake in hand and a shit-eating grin.

* * *

 **Arcturus Station, 2178**

Sorano had never admitted that something was wrong without a concerning amount of aggressive denial first.

So when Jeff suggested they meet up for drinks once she's back on Arcturus, she didn't say no. Even though all she wants to do is hide in her room under the blankets until the images of the dead stop flickering behind her eyelids. If she ever sees another batarian it would be too soon. If only the Alliance could see her now. The 'Butcher of Torfan' flinching at phantom gunshots and seeing the accusing eyes of the dead around every corner. Pathetic.

Stepping out of the shuttle Sorano was thankful that her best friend of seven years had at least picked a hole-in-the-wall bar instead one of the more popular cantinas. For once his hatred of crowds worked out in her favour. Dealing with the attention her latest achievement brought with it had proven to be exhausting. If one more well-meaning jarhead slapped her on the shoulder and congratulated her on "destroying those batarian bastards" she thinks she might scream.

Actually, she knows she will. She's fantasized about it enough times. Often enough for it to be weird.

It's like they'd all just forgotten about the sixty men and woman who had died during that assault. The sacrifices made by their side. It had been a miracle she hadn't been court-martialed for the way she had leaped upon Major Kyle the first time she had seen him following the battle. Covered in the blood of slavers and marines alike she had been described as a goddess of death by the marines who witnessed the confrontation. Major Kyle hadn't had a single scratch on him when he had boarded that ship. By the time his men had pulled her off of him, he was barely recognisable and just holding onto consciousness.

Needless to say, she had spent the trip back to Alliance HQ in the brig while that coward was fussed over in the medbay.

Sorano's saving grace had come in the recordings of her communications with Major Kyle during the battle and the testimonials of both his and what was left of her units. Proving that Major Kyle had purposely diverted ground support from her unit after directing them to storm the tunnels beneath the slaver base on that damn moon. Delaying his unit in joining hers until almost half of them had been gunned down.

He may had given her the moniker of 'Butcher', but following that day Major Kyle was synonymous with 'coward'.

It only took Jeff a moment to spot her moving through the crowd from his perch at the bar, eyes lighting up in that way he reserved just for her. It made her warm and loosened that hard knot of violence and guilt from where it was curled up tight in her chest. He was wearing the Alliance-issue cap she had gifted him when he made it into flight-school along with a button-up flannel open over a grey shirt and faded jeans. Crutches tucked under the bar against the empty stool next to him.

Like always as she got closer and he flashed what she had come to internally refer to as his Signature Dick Grin she couldn't help but think if he was less obnoxious and dressed better he could probably be mistaken as attractive.

"Hey, Flyboy," the affectionate nickname fell flat from her lips as she stopped in front of him, not filled with the usual enthusiasm she spoke with. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry was a mantra on repeat in her head.

Beneath the bill of his cap Jeff's eyebrows drew together as his eyes narrowed at her. Realisation darkened them to a deeper blue than usual and his features softened. Arms opening he spread his legs a little wider and beckoned her forward. A choked sob burst from her lips and she rushed forward, arms near strangling him as she buried her face where his shoulder joined his neck. Hips nestled firm between his knees, one hand weaved its way into her hair while the other was a band around her waist.

Jeff was warm and solid and smelled like the spiced cologne she had bought him last christmas. The flannel was soft against her cheek and the reddish-brown beard covering his cheeks that hadn't been there the last time she saw him was a welcome counterpoint. Sorano didn't even realise she was crying until his soft murmurs finally registered in her ear. In response, she just clung even harder, subconsciously making sure it wasn't with enough force to hurt him but enough to know that he was real.

To know that she was home.

* * *

 **Arcturus Station, 2182**

"Jeffrey Seth Moreau!"

Shoulders leaping up around his ears, Jeff desperately tried to calm the pounding of his heart as that voice cut across the din of the bar with a bellow to make a drill-sergeant proud.

Hunching further over the gin and tonic in front of him, if he was able to he would've been hopping the bar and crawling to freedom right about now. Actually, maybe it would be worth the broken bones. They would heal unlike his pride.

As he was considering the logistics of fleeing like the cowardly coward he was a hand clapped down on his shoulder. Just like that his back was ramrod straight as Sorano breathed against the shell of his ear, "What the fuck were you thinking?"

The fear that slithered cold and wet down his spine was real. This was it. This was the end. Just when he had finally achieved his dream posting he would be murdered by his best friend. Because fate was cruel and punished the young and conventionally attractive.

"Would you believe me if I said I wasn't?" He choked out after an excruciatingly long moment of staving off on entering a state of mild cardiac arrest.

But then the grip on his shoulder loosened and a sigh gushed forth from between his lips and he just sort of deflated.

"You're an idiot," Sorano stated flatly, like she'd been disappointed too many times over crap like this to feel anything other than cool apathy at yet another example of his stupidity.

"How'd you find out anyway?" Jeff sulked, reasonably insulted by her tone, pouting as she plucked the green paper umbrella from his drink and tucked it behind her ear.

"Hilary," she replied as she flagged down the bartender, ordering her usual whiskey and lime.

Of course, his meddling little sister would stick her nose where it didn't belong as per usual. Hilary was probably laughing her ass off on Tiptree as she imagined Sorano giving Jeff the public dressing down of the century. The worst decision he had ever made was introducing those two. Within weeks they had been thick as thieves with a combined passion for embarrassing him at every opportunity. And seeing as Jeff was, well, Jeff, there had been a lot of opportunities throughout the years.

"Hey, it all worked out didn't it?" Jeff shrugged before grinning at her, "Besides didn't you say it was a waste of talent sticking me on shuttle-duty instead of the big guns?"

Flicking the bill of his cap Sorano smirked indulgently at him, "That wasn't permission to commit grand-theft-starship."

"Often," Jeff continued as though she hadn't spoken, "and very loudly. Do you remember the strongly worded letter of 2176? Because I do."

"You're insufferable."

"And yet here you are," the hand holding his drink gestured to where she sat, making absolutely no move to leave, "must be doing something for you."

Smiling enigmatically over the rim of her glass Sorano neither confirmed nor denied his statement. Not exactly helping with the crush he had been harbouring for her over the last eleven years. It was partly why all his relationships hadn't worked out, none of the women ever measuring up to her. And in that uncanny way that woman had, they all knew they were falling short of some unattainable ideal.

After all, the only woman like Sorano Shepard was Sorano Shepard.

Ugh, that was cheesy. If he ever said that out loud and within earshot of Sorano he would promptly throw himself through the nearest airlock to avoid her reaction.

"Dammit," Sorano scowled at the beeping omnitool at her wrist indicating an incoming call and quickly threw back the rest of her drink, "I gotta take this. It's Anderson. I'll be back in a tick."

Watching the crowd part for her as she exited the room was always a treat. Well, any opportunity to stare unashamed at her ass was a treat. Especially when it was covered by dark denim that looked painted on. Damn. Double damn, even.

Times like this Jeff would wonder if it was worth telling her. Laying it all out on the line. Stating, in no uncertain terms, that he was horribly and completely in love with her. But then that sick feeling would pool in his stomach and his hands would sweat and his chest would get all tight and he would very quickly remind himself on how that was a stupid idea. Because that just left him open to finally seeing pity in her eyes while she said "maybe we should just stay friends" or some other meaningless platitude. And it would hurt. The sort of hurt that gets inside you and rips you apart.

No, he wouldn't tell her.

It had been long enough for him to work his way through another two gin and tonics and to start in on a third one when Sorano squeezed in next to him at the bar. Grinning like a mad woman she ordered two tequila shots. Passing him one she tapped her own against it before tossing that shit back like it didn't burn like fire and make her eyes water. Or maybe that was just him. Trying not to draw attention to the fact that he was low-key dying Jeff blinked to clear his eyes and took a deep breath before attempting speech.

"What was that for?" He asked once he was certain his voice wouldn't crack like a teenage boy hitting puberty.

"We're celebrating," Sorano said without looking at him, signalling another two shots from the bartender while Jeff shuddered internally at the thought of doing that again.

Face scrunched up in confusion as he warily held the liquid death in front of his mouth he asked, "Celebrating what?"

With a grin that threatened to near split her face in half, Sorano clinked her shot glass against his, tequila spilling sticky wet over his fingers. Knocking it back her eyes were near glowing with mirth as she gleefully announced, "Congrats Flyboy, you're getting hammered with your new XO."

Jeff didn't realise his jaw had dropped open until Sorano tipped his shot into his open mouth and he narrowly avoided shooting tequila out his nose as the alcohol went down the wrong way. Spluttering over Sorano's amused apologies as she pelted him with napkins he finally reached a semblance of okay and rasped out, "XO?"

"Yessir!" Sorano confirmed with so much glee she was near on vibrating, "Anderson just had me reassigned."

"You're shitting me."

"I've got three days to sort my shit and then I report to the Normandy."

Looking like a little kid who had gotten every present he asked for on Christmas Day, Jeff shot to his feet with an excited whoop and flung his fists in the air. Laughing along with him Sorano lunged forward to grab him by the belt as his legs buckled from the sudden weight. Easing him back onto his barstool her fingers lingered at his hips long enough to cause his cheeks to heat up.

Hopefully, the dark lighting hid the fact that he was blushing like a fucking schoolgirl.

Pathetic.


End file.
